


Silver

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: F/M, Live Aus Berlin, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 07:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15237978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'Reader takes care of Paul after live aus Berlin with a fever'Can do! Short but sweet, like Paul.





	Silver

“Okay. You’re at 38.5°C, and I am not happy with that.”

You clench your jaw, looking at Paul, and he grins weakly.

“But we kicked ass, right? We kicked ass.” He coughs pathetically, and you grab the paracetamol. “You have only just given me some of that.”

“That was ibuprofen. They’re both fine to take, don’t worry. I’m gonna take care of you. Instead of, you know, making you play a gigantic show.” Paul rolls his eyes, and then shivers a little, huddling under the thin blanket. “Oh, you’re all sick now, are you…”

“Care for me. Please, sweetheart.” You slap the cold flannel down onto his forehead, and he winces. “You have a charming bedside manner, dearest.”

“I worry about you, okay.” You look at him – the silver still streaked in his hair, the night quiet as the afterparty has moved to wilder climes, and he squeezes your hand. “I always worry. You’re not invincible.”

“I am not a baby. And we had to do this. Think of how big that crowd was.” His eyes sparkle, even as you dab at his nose again with a tissue, and then kiss his forehead. “Look at what we have done, sweetheart.”

“I know. Oh, Paulchen. I’m so proud. But I still worry.” You squeeze his hand. “Don’t push yourself too far, okay?” He nods, and scrunches up his face in a smile – you see a glimpse of who he will be one day, crows-feet around his eyes, grey touching his hair with its silver-dipped fingers, and you feel your stomach lurch as you pray you’ll be the one still mopping his forehead as he charges off into the future with no regard for himself or others. Typical Sagittarius, really, you think, and smile at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He groans a little. “I am… beginning to feel it more now.” You sigh.

“I’m sure the pyrotechnics helped…”

“Blame Till for that!”


End file.
